Hush Little Baby
by Missie2
Summary: Sequel to Mockingbird Don't Sing. Chloe's living a relatively normal life, unaware of the terrible circumstances surrounding her birth. But she hears voices...


Hush Little Baby

This is the sort-of sequel to That Mockingbird Don't Sing. This is where I reveal a big plot twist, or not so big for the people that have figured it out already. I will continue it as a multi-chapter but for now I'm using a one-shot tactic to build tension.

I don't own Justice League but I do own my characters. You can borrow 'em, but give me credit, ok? I'll even accept phone credit or store credit…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Chloe, where are you?_

_I'm here! What do you want?_

…………………………………

In her ten years of life on Earth, Chloe had heard a great many strange things. This one was different and unfamiliar. She'd never actually felt spooked by a voice whispering to her at night, whether in dreams or out of them. Now she was spooked. Only one thing for it; the long, dark trip to Daddy's bed.

Her bedroom door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, the hall carpet felt cool and unnaturally soft under her bare feet. The hall was lit sporadically with shards of silver from curtains that hadn't been closed. The shards cut the framed pictures on the wall into strange shapes, mostly pictures of her or Daddy or both together. She chided herself for letting what was surely just a nightmare drive her into her father's room like a three-year-old. Such foolishness for a girl who was almost in the last stage of primary school.

Daddy's room appeared after a sharp turn into a part of the hall completely shrouded by the darkness, but the snores coming from inside were comforting enough to distract her from the darkness. She opened the door and tiptoed briskly to the bed.

"Daddy," she whispered, grabbing the duvet and clutching it nervously. What if he got mad at her for disturbing him?

"What is it, sweetheart?" he mumbled sleepily. He was a light sleeper, and he'd woken up as soon as she came in.

"I had a bad dream. Sort of."

The man in the bed sat up, rubbing at his eyes and scratching his coarse beard.

"Was it the lady by the sea again?" he asked. She had that dream most nights…

"No. A nightmare. I heard someone calling me."

"Must have been the sea lady then."

"No, it wasn't! It was a man! Can I sleep in here with you?"

"Fine. Just don't snore or I'll make you sleep in the dog kennel."

She giggled and hopped in beside him, pulling the duvet around her small frame. She felt silly for worrying so much. Daddy never, ever got mad at her, even when she was naughty he had a hard time punishing her. She was asleep in minutes.

Her father, however, was wide awake. In the darkness he stared over at her, her face half covered by the duvet, her dark curls matted by a night of tossing and turning. Nightmares weren't new to her, but this was the first time she'd left her bed because of one. He was worried.

…………………………………

Wally West had been on duty the night of Shayera's murder, but he had just about finished when the news that she had died was relayed to him. For a while, anywhere between an hour or just five minutes, he could do nothing but cry, huddled in a ball in an alleyway. He cried for her, who had died such a horrible death, for the baby, who was probably dying of exposure, for Rex, who had lost his mother at such a young age, and for John, who could have prevented the death of his wife and daughter but didn't. He'd have to live with that for the rest of his life.

Most of all, he cried for himself. Cried because if Shayera had just left John when she found out about his affair like he begged her to, she'd be alive and safe with him. He'd confessed that he loved her when she was five months pregnant, told her if she came with him he'd raise the baby like it was his. Rex too, if that was what she wanted. He should have tried harder.

Then the news came that the baby was possibly still alive and missing. Who better to find a missing child than the fastest man in the world? He set off around the entire county, searching every spot an abandoned infant could be found under. He saw other League members searching too, but they didn't see him. He didn't want to face them until after the baby had been found.

Standing out on a deserted highway, frantic with grief and worry for the child, he looked up to the sky and begged whatever God was up there to show him where the baby was. It seems God answered his prayers. A moment later he saw a blue flash just a few feet away.

The baby was behind a rock, wrapped in a tea towel soaked with blood. She had exhausted herself crying and was starting to drift into a sleep she probably wouldn't wake from. Wally was both elated and terrified at the sight of her. She had caused the flash. Little marks like scratches on the surface of her skin were glowing a bright blue, fading in intensity and flaring up again once he leaned over to touch her little face. Looking into her eyes he found they were a bright red colour, like the eyes of a demon.

He lifted her into his arms and she began to cry again, though weakly. He understood it wasn't fear or pain that was making her cry, just recognition of another human being. The marks began to fade and her eyes turned from blood red to a pleasant cornflower blue. She had a good head of hair for a baby, a fine crop of dark curls. And distressingly, he noticed her skin was white.

He couldn't afford to worry about that at the time, of course. That was between John and Shayera. He dashed to the nearest housing estate he could find and located a house with a newborn baby's clothes hanging on a line. He grabbed two Babygros (stole them, but he'd make up for it later) and broke into the house. He cleaned the baby in the family's kitchen sink and dressed her in both Babygros, which were far too big for her. Then he took two bottles of breast milk from the fridge and fed her. She stayed amazingly silent through everything. He wondered if she was in shock.

Swaddling her in a blanket, Wally prepared to bring the little girl to her father. It wouldn't make up for the devastating loss he'd just incurred, but it would help. As one life ended, another began. How could he not be happy about that? That was what Wally's mind told him, but his heart told him something different.

Things had been strained between him and John ever since the Green Lantern finally married Shayera. They were friends still, and work colleagues, but how could a man be close to the person who'd stolen the woman he loved? They were like wolves, growling quietly at each other when one got too close but never coming to blows. Animosity festered in Wally when he discovered John's affair (for Vixen never was the most subtle of ladies), and John probably found out about how Wally had tried to persuade Shayera to leave him, given the dirty looks he'd been getting from the Lantern over the last few months. There was no animosity left in Wally now. It was full-blown hatred.

Why should he give John the baby when he'd shown no regard for her or her mother? Was she even John's baby? That white skin meant something… He already had one child, and Wally had nothing. Nothing of Shayera but a memory that was already sour and the baby he was supposed to hand over.

Suppose…just suppose he kept her?

It would be easy. He could be across the Atlantic in less than an hour. He could get the baby checked out in a hospital abroad. Go to England, Ireland, Germany, somewhere. Start a new life with the baby…Chloe. Chloe West. His daughter.

He was running away before he'd even decided he was going. Moments later he found himself at the coast, just about to take the first step. After he took that step, there would be no turning back. He'd be a fugitive from people who he loved, friends. More than friends. Family.

He looked down at the swaddled bundle in his arms. Chloe stared back, her blue eyes shining eerily in the moonlight. She was his family now. Was he really willing to turn his back on the League? On his own persona as the Flash?

Damn right.

Two hours later, a hospital in Suffolk saw a man looking for a doctor to treat his newborn daughter for a suspected bout of jaundice. He told the doctor that treated the girl that her mother had died giving birth to her and he was doing his best to cope with that loss. The doctor deeply sympathised and gave the man a prescription for a newborn milk formula.

…………………………………

That night had been ten years ago, almost exactly ten years. Wally often wondered if he'd made the right choice when he stole (yes, stole, because that is what he did) Chloe. Who was to say she wouldn't have been happier with her real father and her brother?

She was an odd child, he had to admit. The blue marks and the red eyes from the night she'd been born weren't a one-off. Several times during her baby years he'd had to replace her cribs over once a month. Her crying fits would draw out the glowing marks and anything close to her would rattle at first, then move. If she was left crying for too long, she could do serious damage. One time, she managed to break all the upstairs windows because she'd been stung by a wasp.

Her skin wasn't just pale as he'd originally thought. She was _white_, like a ghost. She never tanned, not even in the hottest weather. The most colour he ever saw on her skin was a bare hint of a blush when she was embarrassed or angry. He wondered if she was albino, but her dark hair and dark blue eyes proved she wasn't.

Then there were the voices.

When Wally first heard the voices, he thought he was imagining things. She was three years old and playing with plastic farm animals on the kitchen floor while he read a newspaper and slugged coffee. She was singing Baa Baa Black Sheep in her thin, childish alto. Wally thought that when she had finished her song, he heard someone sing back to her. It was quiet, almost a whisper, but it was there and it wasn't Chloe's voice.

When she turned five, he heard the voices every time she sang. Sometimes they sang along with her, other times they sang different songs in a language he didn't recognise. His alarm grew when she seemed to be talking back to the voices in their language, talking to empty spaces. But looking closely, Wally saw that the spaces weren't quite empty. The air around the space seemed distorted, like looking through water.

When Chloe was seven, Wally asked her about the voices after a long period of being in denial about them. She responded by drawing pictures of the 'people' she was talking to. Naturally, Wally was alarmed when the pictures showed women with large feathered wings.

Chloe's singing talent grew over the years and she entered a stage school when she was nine. But as her singing got better, her communication with the voices became stronger until they were no longer just voices. They took on actual form. Wally sometimes walked in on his daughter chatting away to a ghostly presence as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The ghosts, or whatever they were, acknowledged him with smiles and nods, sometimes unintelligible speech. During all this time, her other powers became stronger.

When she was distressed or upset, anything in a twelve mile radius was under threat, starting with whatever was near her. The impact of the force was increasing as she got older, and Wally was worried sick. She had excellent control over herself and her emotions, and the winged people would frequently turn up during troublesome moments to calm her. But would she someday reach a point where no-one could calm her down and she'd end up causing a massive disaster? He was lucky he was the fastest man on the planet. Being Chloe's father meant being constantly vigilant.

But, he mused, he didn't regret it. Being Chloe's father had also brought him a lifetime of happiness. His fears that she would turn out to look exactly like her father, his hopes that she would look like her mother, both of those were unrealised. Sometimes, deep in concentration over a jigsaw puzzle, her expression would remind him of John. Sometimes, in the midst of a hissy fit, she'd look like Shayera. When she laughed, she looked oddly like Wally himself. The truth was that Chloe was her own person, likened to no-one, and that was what made her so fascinating to be around.

In the dark he heard her whisper a strange, hissing sort of sentence and he knew she was dreaming of the lady by the sea. He allowed himself an indulgent smile.

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart."


End file.
